


Betrothal earrings

by Ann_arien



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, Ears being pierced, Lustful Feanor, M/M, Sibling Incest, When is Feanor ever not lustful, quite a little bit of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann_arien/pseuds/Ann_arien
Summary: This little bit of fun is set sometime in the future of the ongoingFriends, Cousins Lovers series, so it's pretty spoilery as far as that sprawling smutsaga is concerned. The relationships depicted here also make much more sense if you're familiar with that series and some scenes from it are referenced here.
Relationships: Celegorm/Angrod, Fëanor/Fingolfin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Betrothal earrings

“Well? What do you think?” Fëanáro inquired. He watched his son and his nephew expectantly as qthey bent over the small velvet box and peered at the twin pieces of jewelry that Fëanáro had designed for them. Their golden heads touching and their hands linked tight between them, Tyelkormo and Angaráto studied Fëanáro's betrothal gift to them with wide eyes and parted lips. They did not hear the question, too busy admiring the two earrings that caught Laurelin's light and sparkled with blue and green fire. 

It had been Tyelkormo’s notion that instead of the traditional betrothal rings, he and his lovely cousin would try something new. The fact that Oromë may have inspired the choice did not escape Fëanáro. With the stripes that mottled his chosen bodily form and the adornments of stone and wood and bone that the Vala sported, small wonder Tyelkormo's skin was still unblemished and intact. Fëanáro would not have complained, but he felt no small amount of pride and satisfaction that Tyelkormo had come to him with the notion of ear-piercing and asked Fëanáro to be the one to do it. 

They were touching the earrings gingerly now, drawing even closer together. Angaráto whispered something under his breath, picking up the earring that Fëanáro had made for him to bestow upon his betrothed. At the heart of it, he had caught a topaz the size of a fingernail, encasing it in the eight golden rays of the House of Arafinwë, tipped at the ends with glints of red-gold. The diamond shape hung from a topaz capped stud that would affix it to the ear and let it dangle freely.

Tyelkormo’s jewel, of the same size and shape, had under the eight pointed star of their own House a great emerald. Over the multi-faceted jewel, flames radiated from a core of white gold to the same red gold tips of the other earring. The seamless transition and the blending of different colors on such a small scale had taken Fëanáro more than one attempt before he was satisfied, but he was proud of the finished jewel and looked forward to seeing Angaráto so beautifully marked with the Fëanorian crest. 

The boys were pleased with their betrothal jewels, they were whispering to each other and holding up the earrings to each other's ears to see what they would look like. They seemed to have quite forgotten Fëanáro was still with them and that was a familiar enough situation. Their house had not seen a greater and more absorbed pair of lovebirds since… well, probably never. Fëanáro thought this to himself with a wry laugh, looking back on the early days of various whirlwind romances his sons had gone through. It was hard to believe this was only the second pair of betrothal rings he was making for his boys. They all loved so fully and with such passion, but some of them seemed more prudent than others when it came to actually binding themselves.

With a pang of wistfulness, Fëanáro wondered when he would be able to ask Curufinwë for betrothal rings of his own. Fëanáro had a whole secret notebook full of various designs and longed for the day when he could present Nolofinwë with the most favored models for him to choose from. But then, they would have to be out in the wide world and both permanently separated from their wives, in order to even contemplate wedding each other. It was more a formality, something for their people to see and recognize. Between the two of them and with their children as witnesses, Fëanáro and Nolofinwë were already bound in body and spirit, as close as two Elves could be and as in love as the two golden boys before Fëanáro.

“Atar?” Tyelkormo touched his arm gently. “Are you still with us?”

Fëanáro had not noticed that they’d spoken to him, so caught up in his own wishes and dreams had he been. He wrenched himself back to the present with an effort and smiled at the two of them.

“Sorry, I missed it if you said something, I was too busy admiring how pretty the two of you will look once we're finished here. Do you like the earrings?”

“Oh, Fëanáro, they're perfect!” Angaráto exclaimed. He nudged Tyelkormo out of the way and flung himself at his unprepared uncle, hugging Fëanáro so hard he could scarcely breathe. “Of course they're flawless and they match the heraldic devices perfectly! But then, of course they match the heraldry, who designed that if not you?”

Angaráto was babbling excitedly, his strong arms quite the vise around Fëanáro, who could only squeeze back in kind. That did little to cut off the flow of happy words in his ear.

“It's so much better than what Turko and I imagined, you made the jewels bigger too, they are going to be so visible and so dazzling and that's just the way I want it!”

_‘Of course it is, you possessive little fiend, what could be more perfect than your mark on my son, shining out like a beacon and proclaiming him yours?’_ Fëanáro thought, but kept it to himself. Angaráto’s jealous nature was at least partially justified and while it served as inspiration for an endless stream of jokes among the Fëanorians, Tyelkormo seemed pleased and comfortable with this aspect of their relationship. And he loved his cousin so much that he would happily let the whole world know he belonged to the Arafinwion. 

“Well, I'm glad you approve,” Fëanáro replied breathlessly. His nephew was strong as a bull and did not seem to know his own power. Fëanáro’s ribs groaned in relief when Angaráto finally stepped back. His smile was so sweet and full off gratitude that Fëanáro could not help himself, he cupped Angaráto’s cheeks and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. It only made his nephew smile all the wider and his eyes radiated so much joy it was impossible not to love him. Of all the people seeking to claim Fëanáro’s sons, perhaps only Findekáno had earned more of Fëanáro's appreciation. But Angaráto was catching up fast.

“Hey, shove off, it's my turn,” Tyelkormo grabbed his cousin and maneuvered him out of the way. He planted himself before Fëanáro and his expression was a combination of amusement and delight that had laughter bubbling up in Fëanáro’s chest.

“Atar, you have outdone yourself… but of course you have, like my love said. Now, out of respect for your tender ribs, may I forego hugging you and get straight to the kissing part?”

Fëanáro laughed and wrapped his arms around Tyelkormo. He squeezed the imp tight and pressed little kisses all over his smiling face, whispering how much he loved him and how proud he was of Turko and how much joy and love he wished upon his son. Tyelkormo whispered his own gratitude and love and their exchange could easily have become overwhelming, if Fëanáro hadn’t casually said “Don’t thank me now, thank me after I fix the earring in your ear.”

“Oh, yes. Ow,” Tyelkormo touched his earlobe gingerly. “I beg forgiveness for all the names I'll be calling you when you pierce my ear.”

“I'll forgive you and try not to laugh,” Fëanáro belied his own promise by grinning quite savagely. “Which one of you goes first?”

Neither of them replied right away, they were too busy looking at each other and then casting furtive glances around the workshop for the tools that Fëanáro would use. 

“Me, atar,” Tyelkormo said at last. “I go first, but not before you give me a mouthful or six of that special brandy you keep stashed in here.”

“Stashed?” Fëanáro’s eyebrow rose. 

“You know, to knock yourself out when you've been possessed by work for days? And for the occasional spectacular blow-job?”

Both Fëanáro’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. 

“Well, I assumed that's what it was that one time we heard uncle Nolofinwë howling all the way back in the house. Is my imagination off the mark?”

“Er… your imagination is as rich and as accurate as ever,” Fëanáro smirked. “Might you be speaking from your own experience also?” he said, looking at Angaráto from the corner if his eye. The lovely Arafinwion had the decency to blush. 

“Might be,” Tyelkormo shrugged one shoulder and grinned. “Though it was from my own personal stash.”

“Perhaps you could have brought that over here to fortify yourself?”

“Ah, but I assumed the master craftsmith would want to do all the honors,” Tyelkormo shot back. 

“The master craftsmith kindly invites you to sit your impertinent ass in that chair,” Fëanáro motioned to a large and sturdy seat that he had brought in from the adjoining sitting room for the occasion. “I shall honor you presently.”

Fëanáro served his son and his nephew double helpings of the fragrant, amber colored brandy. He did not partake, however, he wanted his mind clear and his hands perfectly steady. In spite of the banter and the grins, no part of him looked forward to causing either of them even the smallest discomfort. Tyelkormo tossed back the glass and shuddered at the potency of the liquor. But he held out his glass and polished off a second shot immediately after. Beside him, Angaráto sipped more slowly, but he took a refill as well, before Fëanáro set the bottle aside and went to fetch his tools.

He washed his hands thoroughly first, then came back with a small case of fine engraving tools. He selected a sharp little awl from among them, the long stem not much thicker than a wool sewing needle. Fëanáro caught Tyelkormo’s eyes on the implement and winced in sympathy. His son was no stranger to physical exertion and injury, nor was he frightened of a little pain… but he had no fondness of needles when he was not the one wielding them to stitch fabric or torn skin. 

“Hold for a moment,” Angaráto’s hand on his shoulder halted Fëanáro in mid step. He was about to sit down on a tall stool he'd brought by Turko's chair and bend to the task. Another stool within reach held an empty tray, a handful of cotton swaths and a vial of transparent liquid that Maitimo had distilled from fermented plums. Fëanáro debated whether he should give Turko a sip of that pure alcohol, but he realized that his son had much better medicine on hand.

Angaráto straddled Tyelkormo’s hips and tipped his head back, kissing him hard and insistently, until Tyelkormo was clutching him and squirming beneath him. The chair groaned ominously but held, making Fëanáro grin with the memory of similar pressure on the sturdy construction. He'd sat on that chair with his beloved brother atop him or rode the seated Nolofinwë more than once and mmm… the memories that assaulted him sent a thrill of lust down Fëanáro’s spine.

From his vantage point, what he saw of his son and his nephew sent quite a bit more than a thrill though Fëanáro. Those two had never had much concern for their surroundings or the potential audience, when the mood took them (and the mood took them almost every moment they were together!) and Fëanáro had gotten an eyeful of unbridled passion more than once. But this was deliberate, Angaráto’s mouth moved over Tyelkormo’s jaw and down his neck, teeth grazing hard enough to redden the skin. Tyelkormo’s hands roamed down his lover's back, digging into the hard muscles of his backside and pressing Angaráto down and onto him. Fëanáro’s mouth had gone dry and he did not blink as he hovered close by and drank in the mesmerizing sight. Butterflies exploded in his stomach when he saw Angaráto taking Tyelkormo’s earlobe between his lips, sucking and then biting on the soft, tender flesh. Tyelkormo moaned and bucked beneath him, shifting the seat with an audible scrape. 

He knew he should step back, turn around at least and give the two of them some privacy, but Fëanáro was rooted to the spot, his hands twitching at his sides. He so very much wanted to touch, to plunge his fingers into Angaráto's unbound hair and pull his head back. He'd plunder the mouth that caused his son such sweet torment and have a taste of what had made Tyelkormo want to bind himself to Angaráto until the end of Arda. He wanted to free Tyelkormo’s mouth and possess it too, claim Tyelkormo as his own as he had always held himself back from doing, in spite of their closeness and intimacy. Fëanáro wanted their hands and their mouths on him and he was growing hard, he was growing distracted, he was going to…

With a mental wrench so loud Fëanáro expected to make the other two jump as well, he shook himself and smacked the side of his own head hard enough for his vision to blur. He had to snap out of it before the fascination undid him and he had to stop the writhing pair before they went at it in earnest, if they were going to get the earrings in place. If not, Fëanáro would let the boys have their fun and come back later, when they'd hopefully be done fucking the nervous excitement out of each other.

“I'm done now, Fëanáro,” Angaráto said huskily and what Fëanáro wanted to reply was _‘You're done when I’ve had you over my workbench!'._ He swallowed and nodded instead, perching atop the stool at Tyelkormo’s side and peering down at his disheveled son. Tyelkormo was biting his lip, but his eyes were fogged with lust and held no apprehension. He linked hands with Angaráto who crouched between Tyelkormo’s spread legs and looked up with a mixture of adoration and desire that put a lump in Fëanáro's throat. Oh yes, he would give his son away to someone who looked at him like _that._

“Rest your head against the back of the chair,” he said to Tyelkormo. “And try to hold still.”

Tyelkormo complied, his eyes falling almost shut as he looked down at his beloved and tried to steady his breathing. Fëanáro willed his unruly and illicit passion to subside, but he was also thankful for the distraction, it helped steady his hands and chased away the horror of doing something that would draw blood from one of his children. He soaked one of the cotton swabs in Nelyo's pungent alcohol and cleaned the shaft of the little awl in his hand. He treated Tyelkormo’s earlobe in the same manner, ignoring the way his son wrinkled his nose at the smell and the sting on his grazed skin. 

“I'm doing it now,” Fëanáro said by way of warning. He pinched the soft end of the earlobe hard and felt Tyelkormo tensing. For a fraction of a second Fëanáro thought to halt it all and suggest they go back to the traditional betrothal rings… or that they would choose to pierce some less sensitive area… but then, Fëanáro clenched his jaw and got on with it. 

He tried not to crumble when Tyelkormo let out a long moan from between clenched teeth. The metal needle had gone through Tyelkormo’s flesh much too easily and stuck there, sealing the small wound. As quickly and as gently as he could, Fëanáro replaced the piercing instrument with the stem of the topaz earring. Too late it crossed his mind that he should have kept the stud only, that the dangling bit would be too heavy and would drag the injured flesh. There was nothing for it but to push the small stopper at the back and complete the operation. When he sat back on the stool, Fëanáro saw that a small bead of blood had gathered under the rim of gold, and be bent to wipe it away ever so gently. 

“It’s alright now, atar, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” Tyelkormo said when he opened his eyes and caught the concern on his father's face. “How does it look?”

Fëanáro smiled and went to fetch his gorgeous and vain son a mirror. But before that he could return with it, Tyelkormo must have seen his reflection in the adoring eyes of his lover. Angaráto's breath caught on the compliment he was whispering and he rose from his crouch, his eyes alight and even more brilliant than the stone that glimmered from Tyelkormo's ear. He pulled Tyelkormo to his feet and turned his head this way and that, to catch the movement of the jewel and to mark the way it stood out against creamy skin and golden hair. What he saw seemed to please Angaráto more than he could express with words, he sighed happily and pulled Tyelkormo flush against him.

This time, Fëanáro turned away from the sight of the two of them kissing, it was different than before, much more intimate and he felt like an intruder in the sharing of so much love. But even with his back turned, he could feel the warmth of their bond radiating from Tyelkormo and Angaráto. It had been pushed aside for years and years but when allowed to blossom between those two blessed fools, the intensity of their souls merging had left them reeling. Fëanáro understood better than anyone else and with the sounds of shared kisses and whispers of love in his ears, the longing for his own soulmate hit Fëanáro hard. He took a ragged breath and held onto the edge of his worktable, reminding himself that if he so chose, Nolofinwë was but a horse-ride away and he would certainly need to see him very soon. He would tell his brother every little detail of the earrings exchange, he would not conceal that he had been aroused by some parts of the process and maybe, just maybe… Nolofinwë would consent to bear such a mark somewhere upon his person, even if it was somewhere only Fëanáro could see it.

“Can I have the mirror, atar?” Tyelkormo drew him back to the present. Fëanáro turned around and held up the small hand mirror he sometimes used to focus light with. He could not help grinning when Tyelkormo preened like the peacock he was, musing about what bits of his wardrobe he could match with the new adornment, what new clothes he would have to commission and what new jewelry he would have his little brother and his father make for him. Knowing the way Tyelkormo flaunted himself and had spawned more than one trend among the other peacocks in Tirion and Alqualondë, Fëanáro expected he would be in business for making earrings before long. 

“It looks perfect on you,” Fëanáro said. “Does it hurt? Is it heavy when you move?”

“It stings a little, I can feel it pulling at my earlobe, but it’s not too unpleasant. It did hurt like bastard when you put that thing through my ear, though. It was worse than when Oromë put his…”

The words caught in Tyelkormo’s throat and his eyes widened. He cast Fëanáro a panicked little look, made all the more ridiculous when Angaráto drawled “When Oromë put his huge cock in you, yes, yes... we know all about that.”

Fëanáro fought hard to suppress a chuckle at Tyelkormo’s chagrined expression and the way he caught Angaráto rolling his eyes. Then, his nephew caught on and his expression changed to wide-eyed panic.

“Oh shit, it hurt that bad?” Angaráto muttered.

“Er, well… maybe I have very sensitive ears?” Tyelkormo offered with a placating little smile.

“I know how sensitive your ears are and mine are even more so and… fuck!”

“Drink?” Fëanáro offered with a congenial smile. 

“No, I think I have a better idea,” Tyelkormo said. He turned to his lover and pulled Angaráto close for a hard and noisy kiss. Before his cousin could return the embrace, Tyelkormo maneuvered him onto the sturdy seat and spread Angaráto’s legs apart, to crouch between them. Fëanáro blinked in the same stunned fashion as Angaráto when Tyelkormo unceremoniously unlaced his lover's breeches and reached inside them to spring Angaráto’s erection free. That he was hard did not surprise Fëanáro in the least, he was fairly sure _hard_ and _Angaráto_ were synonyms when in the presence of Tyelkormo. But the casualness of Tyelkormo’s gesture left both his companions wide-eyed. 

Before Angaráto could utter a word of protest or seek to cover himself, Tyelkormo lowered his head and put his mouth on him. Fëanáro felt his jaw drop and his mouth water. And just like that, the lust that had threatened to fog his mind earlier came back with a vengeance.

How long he stood there, staring dumbly and rising to full hardness inside the confines of his own breeches, Fëanáro could not tell. He watched as his son put his hands and his mouth to good use, coaxing the most delicious sounds from his lover. Fëanáro saw only glimpses of hard flesh and clever fingers and a darting tongue, Tyelkormo’s hair obscured the display as his head bobbed up and down. With considerable effort, Fëanáro moved his gaze away from the erotic sight, but it only served to hit him in the solar plexus with another, even more potent view. 

Angaráto’s head had fallen back against the tall backrest of the chair. His eyes, half-lidded and smoldering with desire were not trained on his lover but drawn to Fëanáro instead. Where Fëanáro might have expected apprehension or shame at being so exposed and milked of his pleasure, Angaráto's face showed the exact opposite. His hips moved and his hand found Tyelkormo’s hair, but his eyes met Fëanáro’s and at _that_ electrifying contact, Angaráto moaned loudly.

Now _there_ was something… Fëanáro’s breath caught and he swallowed convulsively, fully aware of just how much he would have liked to be between Angaráto's legs. He licked his lips, unaware he was doing it, until Angaráto’s eyes widened and he made a sound that had even Tyelkormo looking up at him. 

“Now would be a good time to do it…” Tyelkormo drawled, making Fëanáro nearly jump out of his skin. If he meant what Fëanáro wanted him to be saying, he'd be throat deep with delicious Arafinwion within the next few moments. But Tyelkormo stopped his lavish ministrations and pointed to the second earing. 

_‘Oh, that…’_ Fëanáro sighed inwardly, remembering that Tyelkormo was trying to distract his lover from pain rather than put on a show for his lecherous father. But Angaráto looked like he was having twice the fun precisely because Fëanáro was watching and oh, that nugget of information merited further exploration at a later date. 

Kicking himself into motion, Fëanáro fetched the second jewel and his implements, cleaning them quickly and trying to ignore the sounds of pleasure that filled his workspace. 

“I need you to be still,” he urged a writhing Angaráto. But it was easier said than accomplished, even when Tyelkormo's head stopped bobbing. Still, his mouth had not moved off and his tongue swirled lazy circles on flushed and glistening flesh.

Fëanáro closed his eyes and took a steadying breath that did very little to cool him and absolutely nothing against the throbbing in his groin. They were testing him, the little bastards… and he was finding it much, much, MUCH too hard to control himself.

“Steady now, Angaráto. I mean it,” he tried to reach his nephew through the haze of pleasure that fogged his senses. The younger Elf raised his eyes and the blue in them was almost gone, his pupils blown and his face transfixed with passion. 

Fëanáro took another deep breath, held it, tried to count to ten, lost his count under that fiery gaze so full of yearning… then tore his own gaze away because he would never get the thing done otherwise. He turned Angaráto's head and took hold of his earlobe, pushing the needle through in one swift motion. Angaráto made a sound that had Fëanáro almost falling off his perch, a deep growl of pain that trailed off into a groan of unmistakable pleasure. Fëanáro had to hold him still to replace the piercing instrument with the emerald earring, but after a brief struggle, that last operation was completed and Fëanáro could breathe a sigh of relief.

It must have been the shortest respite in history, because he risked a glance down Angaráto’s body and when Fëanáro saw his cock disappear completely into Tyelkormo's mouth, his jaw dropped again. He swallowed the same way Tyelkormo was swallowing and Angaráto’s cry of delight struck Fëanáro like a bolt of lightning. 

Dazed, he turned his eyes to the mouth that had issued that siren call and Fëanáro bit his own lip hard against the desperate need to throw himself at his nephew. He was panting almost as hard as Angaráto and very nearly lost his mind when Tyelkormo did something with his mouth that had his lover throwing back his golden head and keening with pleasure. Angaráto bared his throat and the earring sparkled against his fair skin. A thin line of red marked the place Fëanáro had pierced his skin and stretched just below the punctured earlobe. The sight of it made Fëanáro leap out of his skin and out of his seat as well. He bent himself over the writing form and his mouth found the tiny rivulet of blood. His groan and Angaráto’s wail of ecstasy mingled, underscored by the savage growl deep in Tyelkormo's throat. 

The utter wrongness of what he was doing had Fëanáro almost spending himself, untouched as he was… or would have been if Angaráto did not clutch his bare arms. Far from pushing Fëanáro away, the bruising grip held in him place and Fëanáro exhaled in helpless surrender. His own hands found Angaráto and steadied him, held the bucking and writhing body as still as he could, while Tyelkormo drank his pleasure and Fëanáro tasted his blood and wanted to eat his nephew whole.

A few heartbeats later, with Angaráto’s breathless moans in his ears and with his frantic pulse under his lips, Fëanáro felt the younger Elf convulse and shatter. He himself was somehow still in one piece, but doubled over with lust so intense it felt more like a stab in the gut. He was panting in Angaráto's ear, almost as winded as Angaráto himself, but without any release. As he flicked his tongue over the earring he had made and set in place, Angaráto cried out again, pleasure and pain making his voice hoarse. Fëanáro thought his soul might just flee his body if that body did nothing to assuage some of the acute need that crushed his insides. He resolved to pick Angaráto up and spread him on the closest available surface. There would be no time for finesse and foreplay, Fëanáro would mount him hard, he was too desperate for it now. But it would be fine, Tyelkormo had boasted about how they both liked it rough and sported many bruises to show it, Angaráto would enjoy a brutal coupling, especially the way he was now, all loose with spent passion.

Galvanized by his decision, Fëanáro sprang free of Angaráto’s slackening hold and made to yank off his sleeveless tunic. With the corner of his eye, he saw Tyelkormo doing the exact same and it made him halt in mid-motion. His son was pulling items of clothing off so fast it bespoke of his vast experience in doing so. Fëanáro had to smirk at that and it helped bring him back to his senses somewhat. Not that the sight of Tyelkormo naked and massively aroused did much to put out the fires that raged in him. 

_‘Mine,’_ Tyelkormo mouthed when he met his father’s eyes and saw in them the same intention to ravage Angaráto that burned inside him as well. Fëanáro took a deep breath, clenched his hands so hard that his fingernails bit into his palms and that little stab of pain helped center him some more. He blinked and nodded slowly, understanding that his raging lust meant nothing when compared to the significance of this moment for his son and his beloved. They were betrothed now and Tyelko was right, Angaráto was his to take and enjoy, there was no room for his lecherous, bastard of a father in any of this!

Fëanáro straightened himself… as much as the insistent throbbing in his groin allowed it, and turned on his heels, determined now to leave as fast as he could, before he spoiled the moment for his children. But when Angaráto called for him, all the good intentions in the world crumbled to ashes and Fëanáro was at his nephew's side before he could think better of it.

Angaráto reached out for him and when he found Fëanáro’s hand, he cradled it between his own and raised Fëanáro’s trembling fingers to his lips. There was so much love in that gesture, so much gratitude and trust that Fëanáro was shaken anew, this time by a wave of affection so strong it threatened to drown him. His voice was thick and unsteady when he said “Welcome to the family, my son.”

The words were right, they cast a soothing blanket over Fëanáro’s rabid lust. They also brought forth tears of joy in Angaráto’s eyes. He breathed his words of thanks on Fëanáro’s fingers and pressed them against his warm cheek, before releasing Fëanáro’s hand. Those glorious blue eyes peered upwards and the transformation on his face told Fëanáro that his nephew had seen Tyelkormo naked and about to pounce on him.

It was truly time to go now and Fëanáro backed away, struggled through the very air in his workshop that felt so heavy and charged with desire. _‘Not for me, not this time, none of this is mine,’_ Fëanáro told himself as he put distance between himself and temptation. He was waylaid again, when Tyelkormo touched his shoulder. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, strong arms encircled him and Tyelkormo was kissing him. It would have driven Fëanáro absolutely insane, but for the gentleness in the kiss and the way Tyelkormo was whispering _thank you_ and _I love you_ against his lips. Fëanáro squeezed his beloved son tight, unmindful of his nakedness and his very evident arousal. And when he stepped away, he felt his heart very near to bursting at the sight of Tyelkormo’s happy smile. 

They parted with another little kiss and the last Fëanáro saw of his boys, they were falling upon each other in a tangle of grasping limbs. He was laughing quietly, still aroused to the point of pain, but also exhilarated by all the joy and the love he was closing the doors of his workshop on. Fëanáro filled his lungs with the fresh evening air and leaned back against the doors, his laughter trailing into an incredulous smile. 

What had just happened to him? Was he really shaking with thwarted lust, weak at the knees and dizzy and feeling as though every inch of his skin prickled against the clothes that constricted him? Fëanáro shook his head, willing himself to stand straight and giving the throbbing bulge between his legs an accusing glare. What to do about that? And how to come to terms with the intensity of his reaction? The only other time he had ever felt like his skin was too tight to contain him and he might burn out of it, he might lose his mind and explode with desire was when… Fëanáro cast his mind back to all the times his brother and beloved had driven him beside himself with want. Oh, there had been many such times and there would be many more… but if he were completely honest with himself, there was one supreme moment that would always burn the hottest in his memory. That singular, spectacular and supremely arousing moment when Nolofinwë had been sprawled on the bed in Fëanáro’s chambers at the palace and Maitimo was pleasuring him with his mouth, while Fëanáro himself was buried to the hilt inside the Elf he had no notion at the time that he would be desperately in love with. Fëanáro could have cursed his clueless self from back then, for his lack of appreciation and his delight in dominance. With his current mind, Fëanáro knew that nothing could ever best the absolute perfection of that moment. Unless…

As his mind spun with visions of how he might share the two Elves he loved the most (no, three, Findekáno was very definitely going to be there, wild horses would not stop him after he had sampled Fëanáro on his own and they’d both been on the precipice of acquiring an addiction for each other), Fëanáro groaned and lurched into motion. If he did nothing to ease the immense pressure within himself, his eyes would pop right out of his head.

***

“Káno, what the fuck?!” Telufinwë cut right through his brother's recital. He was perched on the windowsill of his brother's bedroom and one chance look out into the courtyard had him wide-eyed.

Macalaurë twitched and his fingers plucked a false note, but his voice never faltered and his latest composition ran on smoothly. 

“Káno, quit yowling and come here, you have to see this!”

The indignant look Macalaurë shot his little brother was lost in the fall of red hair as Telvo hopped off and leaned out the window, presenting Macalaurë with his ungrateful back. He set the harp aside (gently, the instrument was not to blame for idiot brothers and their easily distracted bird-brains) and walked over to the window. He shoved his little brother aside a bit too energetically, but Telvo was too absorbed by whatever had caught his attention to notice. When Macalurë followed the direction of his incredulous stare, he understood why.

In the courtyard, by the pump near the stables, their father was just pulling his head out of a water-barrel. He was breathing heavily and trying to push wet hair out of his face, but as soon as he had filled his lungs, he leaned forward and submerged his head back into the cold water. He did this a couple of times, under the flabbergasted looks of his sons, before Telufinwë turned to Macalaurë with a worried frown.

“What's wrong with him? Do you think he’s done himself an injury? Maybe he burned his face in the forge or something, we should go down there.”

Macalaurë felt a pang of fear, it would not be the first time their father had burst from the forge in a state, too caught up with what he was doing to notice that he'd cut himself or his hair had been singed. They could not see his face but surely, something was wrong with it, if Fëanáro kept plunging his head into the water-barrel and kept it submerged for as long as he could. 

“Come on, lets see if he needs help,” Macalaurë said and he was already moving toward the door when Telvo called him back. 

“Hold on, Nelyo found him.”

Both brothers watched their eldest as he approached Fëanáro and waited for him to surface. When their father felt he was no longer alone, he turned toward Maitimo and when he freed his face of wet strands, Macalaurë heaved a sigh of relief. Fëanáro did not seem to be injured in any way, merely out of breath and gesticulating expansively as he explained to Maitimo what the matter was with him. 

Maitimo listened, hands on his hips and Macalaurë could tell by the line of his rigid shoulders that his brother was not too keen on what he was hearing. Then, when Fëanáro finished speaking and shrugged helplessly, Maitimo did something that had both Macalaurë and their youngest brother snorting in disbelief. He grabbed the back of their father's head and pushed it right back into the barrel.


End file.
